The Unusual Afterlife Of Percy Jackson
by Mage Myrddin
Summary: HIATUS. Percy Jackson died in Tartarus, ensuring Annabeth, Bob and Damasen's freedom. But he isn't gone. The Fates are not finished with Percy yet. He still has a job to do. Basically, an AU where Percy dies in Tartarus. He becomes a ghost and tries to help his friends from beyond the grave whilst figuring out his new powers and what it is exactly that the Fates want from him.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Mostly.**

They had reached the Doors of Death. A cause for celebration, Percy supposed, only it was a little hard to celebrate with a horde of monsters out for your blood.

Tartarus had stripped away the Death Mist that had been their only means of hiding from monster eyes. Now, they could been seen by the army, and they weren't happy. After all, a number of them had been killed by Percy himself, on his various quests and during the Battle of Manhattan. Now they wanted to return the favour. Percy couldn't say he blamed them, really. He'd be pretty pissed off too, if someone not even a fraction as old as you went and sent you back to hell every decade or so, where you were stuck until you were lucky enough to get a chance to climb out of the pit.

Bob and Damasen were fighting Tartarus, and Percy knew that they could not keep it up for long. Tartarus wasn't even at full strength in that form, but he was still far more powerful than the gods. He was, after all, a primordial. They were in a different league altogether.

Annabeth was by his side, fighting against the monsters that were brave enough to charge. Percy saw that the monsters on his side were preparing to attack. He focused his senses and reached out with his powers. At the monsters' feet, a red vein in the ground burst open, spraying the monsters with liquid fire from the Phlegethon. The firewater might have healed mortals, but it didn't do the monsters any favours. The burst vein healed itself, but nothing was left of the enemy except a row of scorch marks.

"Annabeth!" Percy yelled. "You have to leave! Get in the elevator and go. I can hold the button."

"No!" Annabeth yelled back. "I'm not leaving you here. You deserve to see your family again."

"Annabeth. Even if we both make it out of Tartarus, we won't be together for very long. You know what Akhlys did."

And indeed, Annabeth did know. Akhlys had poisoned Percy. Bob had managed to delay the effects, but the damage was irreversible. Percy would be dead within the week. Not even Apollo himself could save Percy now.

"I won't leave you." Annabeth stubbornly shook her head, all the while dodging the attack of an empousa and striking out with her knife, turning the monster to dust.

"I'm a dead man walking, Annabeth. At least let me make sure that you get to live." Percy begged, absentmindedly killing a couple of hellhounds that got too close.

A loud boom distracted them as Tartarus hit Bob and Damasen in one fell swoop. They landed not far from Percy and Annabeth. Together they wearily staggered upright and made their way over to the two demigods.

"We weakened him." Damasen puffed.

"But it is not enough." Bob huffed.

"Annabeth needs to get in the elevator." Percy said. "Bob, Damasen, you two should go with her."

Damasen stared at Percy. "To do so is to seal your fate, demigod. You will die."

"I'm dying anyway." Percy replied ruthlessly. "My fate is sealed. But yours is not. You deserve to have a life in the world above. I can keep Tartarus and the monsters occupied for twelve minutes while you get out."

"No. I'm not going." Annabeth objected.

"Are you sure, Percy?" Bob asked. Percy nodded once.

"Then we will go." Damasen answered for the both of them.

"Take Annabeth with you." Percy told them. They nodded. Damasen touched his hand to Annabeth's forehead and Annabeth instantly slumped forward into unconsciousness. Bob slung her over his shoulder and they both went into the elevator.

"Bob, Damasen." They looked at Percy with sympathy in their eyes. "If the Olympians try to send you back to Tartarus or punish you in some other way, tell them that as a reward for my part in the Giant war, I want the amnesty that was granted to the peaceful titans at the end of the Titan war to be extended to you two as well. Without you, we would not have survived, and the Doors of Death would still be open."

Damasen nodded, and Bob was crying.

"Bye, guys. Tell Annabeth that I love her for me, would you?" Without waiting for an answer, Percy hit the up button, and continued to hold it.

In his head, Percy was steadily counting down the twelve minutes, though the doors should vanish from Tartarus as soon as they opened in the mortal world, as long as Nico and the others had managed to cut the chains there as well. Percy hoped they had.

Fighting became a blur to Percy. He sustain more injuries than he would have normally, being unable to roll away from an opponent without taking his finger off of the button. Tartarus sat by and watched, apparently content in the knowledge that Percy would die long before the twelve minutes were up.

After what felt like an eternity of fighting, Percy was bone tired. He had sustained numerous and possibly life-threatening wounds, but the pain was a blur to him, something to be ignored. His vision had shrunk, so that all that he could see was what was right in front of him. All Percy was aware of was the fight, and the burning need to keep the up button pressed down. His heart was pounding, and he knew that he wouldn't last much longer. Suddenly, the monsters all backed off, and Tartarus moved forward into Percy's line of sight. He had shrunk down to human size.

"Well done, little hero. I have to admit that I didn't think you would last this long. Eight minutes have passed since you pressed the button to send your little friends to the surface." Tartarus spoke, his voice hollow.

Hope swelled inside Percy. He had lost track of how long it had been a while ago, but eight minutes sounded about right. He only had to hold on for four more minutes.

"I will do you a deal, little demigod." Tartarus said demigod with the same disdain one would associate with insects.

"What deal?" Percy asked. His throat was dry. He needed water. _Water._ An idea began to form. A stupid, reckless idea that would probably get him killed. But that was okay, so long as it got him killed after Annabeth and the others were out.

"I will not let the monsters attack you for the remaining four minutes."

"Uh, that's great ..." Percy couldn't help but wonder what the catch was.

"So that I can attack you."

"Not so great." Percy muttered. Still, at least it tied in well with his plan. "I accept."

"Wonderful. You will have the honour of being killed by Tartarus personally." Tartarus lumbered forward, swinging his fist.

Percy focused on the ground again, and made the vein explode. Cold water from the river Cocytus engulfed Tartarus for a brief second, making him stagger back, just a bit.

 _Three minutes fifty seconds._ Percy's internal clock told him.

"You think that my own blood can harm me, silly demigod?" Tartarus laughed, or Percy assumed it was laughter, because it sounded something like falling rocks.

Percy was already refocusing, thinking of water, of the sea as he replied to the primordial's jab.

"No." Percy muttered. "I just needed a distraction." _The water is within me,_ he thought.

 _Three minutes forty seconds remaining._ Percy wasn't going to lose track of the time again.

"What do you mean?" If Percy didn't know better, he would have said Tartarus looked uncertain. "Demigod?"

Percy reached inside himself, remembering the waves and the currents, the endless power of the ocean and let it loose in one scream.

He put all his power into that scream, fuelled by his emotions, increasing the power of the blast.

His despair at being forced into a second war, so soon after the first.

His anger at the unfairness of it all, that he and his friends had to fight and risk dying all over again, because the gods couldn't fight.

His love for his family, for Annabeth, for Camp Half-Blood, which motivated him to fight in the first place.

His desire to settle down with Annabeth, have a life with her in New Rome, even if that would now never happen.

His wish to see the gods become better, fairer, so that they would not ignore their children or see enemies where there are none.

But most of all, his hope. His hope that this sacrifice was not in vain, that closing the Doors of Death would help the demigods to win the war. Hope that peace would come to the mythological world, that his friends would be happy again.

A tidal wave, a whirlwind of power exploded out of Percy, just as it did at Mount St Helens, only this time he was in control. Instead of it pushing Percy upwards, as it did before, he stayed still, and the water rushed out. Straight into Tartarus and his horde of monsters.

Most of the monsters died as soon as the water reached them from the sheer force of the explosion. Tartarus himself was pushed back, the waves bearing him far away from Percy.

 _Three minutes thirty seconds left._

Percy stemmed the flow of water rushing out of him. He needed to pace himself, so that he could stay conscious to hold the button. But it was so hard, all he wanted to do was to sleep in the oceans' embrace.

NO! He forced himself to keep his eyes open, to stay awake. Annabeth's face flashed in front of his eyes. If he let go of the button now, then she wouldn't make it to the mortal world. He didn't know where she would be exactly, but he doubted it would be healthy.

 _Three minutes fifteen seconds._

His hand started to slip off of the button, but he recovered just in time. He felt tears prick against his eyelids. _I can't do this._

The pain of his wounds began to catch up with him, and his arms trembled under the strain. Water still flowed from him, but keeping it up was becoming a struggle. Percy did the only thing he could think of. _Father, help me._

 _Three minutes._

Percy slumped against the Doors. He focused all his attention on the sea, but despite that, the water came more slowly. _I've failed._

"Percy?"

Percy's head shot up and he was confused by double vision. He could see Tartarus through the water he was pulling from inside himself, but he could also see another place. His father's throne room in Atlantis.

"Father? But the gods ... Tartarus. I thought -"

The sea god's form flickered briefly to Neptune before settling on Poseidon again.

"Calm down, Percy. It's true that we gods have no power in Tartarus. I don't know how we are talking. What have you done?"

"I -" Percy felt like his chest was filled with cement. "The water ... like Mount St Helens."

Poseidon nodded. "Makes sense. The ocean is a part of you, but it _is_ me. You carry a piece of me in you. When you pulled all that saltwater out of yourself, you gave me a foothold in Tartarus. When you prayed for my help, you created a connection. That's how I am able to talk to you."

 _Two minutes forty seconds._

"My friends, how are they?" Percy asked slowly.

"Fine. They're fine. The daughter of Pluto and the son of Hephaestus are waiting on the mortal side to help Annabeth. They've cut the chains, so the Doors will move as soon as Annabeth leaves the elevator." He hesitated. "And you'll be stuck in Tartarus."

"That doesn't matter." Percy shifted slightly, and winced in pain. "The Doors of Death must be closed from both sides. The elevator ... someone has to hold the up button on the control panel for twelve minutes, otherwise the people inside won't reach the mortal world. Someone was always going to have to stay behind." He moved so that his father could see his hand pressing the button down.

 _Two minutes thirty seconds._

"How long till the elevator reaches the mortal world?" Poseidon asked his son.

"Two and a half minutes."

Silence fell between them. Percy distracted himself from his fatigue by studying the people around Poseidon, who he hadn't noticed at first, due to extreme tiredness and general hopelessness. The first was Triton, Poseidon's heir and Percy's half-brother. The second was Poseidon's wife, Amphitrite, and the third was Delphin, Poseidon's advisor.

"I'm sorry." Poseidon broke the silence first.

"Huh?" Percy gaped at his father. He wasn't a quick thinker under normal circumstances, and spending a few days in hell hadn't done anything for his thinking abilities.

"You have had a hard life, harder than most demigods in general, and all of my demigod children. It ... isn't fair to you, or your mother."

"That isn't ... your fault." Percy said slowly. "You did not decide my fate."

Poseidon looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't say any more.

The water stopped flowing out of him, but he was still submerged. A Cyclops lunged at him from the now-still depths of water, but Percy tiredly made a gesture with his free hand, and the water dashed the monster against the rocks, turning it to dust.

 _One minute forty-five seconds._

"I can't keep this up." Percy told his father. "I'm not strong enough."

"Yes, brother, you can."

Percy stared at Triton. "Huh?"

"You succeeded in evading thousands of monsters in the middle of hell itself. Giving up now would be folly."

"I know. But I really, really need a rest."

"You don't have to keep it up for long. Just a little while longer. For your friends." Triton said softly.

Percy nodded dumbly, long past exhaustion. "Can I ask you a question, Triton?"

Triton nodded.

"Why try to help me? I thought you hated me."

"It is not your fault you were born, and you have already suffered dearly because of it. Besides, you have survived a place that even the gods fear for several days. That earns you my respect, no matter who your father is."

 _One minute thirty seconds._

A ghost of a smile crossed Percy's lips. "Thanks." He frowned, struggling to grasp a thought that had arisen at Triton's speech, tiredness clouding his mind.

"Annabeth and I had help though. Bob the Titan - he used to be Iapetus - and Damasen the peaceful giant. They're travelling to the mortal world with Annabeth."

Triton looked alarmed. "Zeus will try to throw them both back into Tartarus."

Percy nodded, then looked at his father. "Will you speak up on their behalf? We would not have been able to close the doors of death without them."

"I will try."

Percy sighed. "Thank you."

 _One minute fifteen seconds._

Percy's mind moved slowly, sluggishly, latching onto a familiar thought.

"Who will tell my mother when I'm dead?"

"I will." Poseidon said. Percy looked at him, and saw that his eyes were full of tears.

"Why?" Percy questioned. The word was quiet, practically non-existent, but Poseidon still understood.

"Because it is my responsibility. I should have found a way to save you." Poseidon's voice was filled with guilt.

"Not your fault." Percy mumbled. A hellhound shadow-travelled next to him. Percy clumsily swung Riptide and turned it to dust, but the effort nearly made him pass out. His knees buckled, and he lent against the elevator for support.

 _One minute._

"One minute." Percy muttered deliriously. _Focus, Percy._ He told himself. _Annabeth._

"Annabeth." Percy said. "The gods ... can't interfere in their children's lives. Doesn't say anything about interfering ... in the lives of other gods children. Please, help Annabeth, if you're allowed. Please." He fended off the attacks of one of the empousa, managing to decapitate it more by sheer luck than anything else.

"I will do what I can. It isn't even a fraction of what I owe you" Poseidon promised.

"Thank you. Wait ... what do you mean a fraction of what I owe you?" Percy asked.

 _Thirty seconds._

Poseidon just looked at Percy, and even in his near-dead state Percy could clearly see the pain and guilt in his eyes. But before Percy could say anything, he was attacked by three monsters at once. Unable to defend himself with Riptide, Percy gathered up the last of his strength and used the seawater to push them away from him.

His head swam and his chest felt like broken glass when he breathed, but he resisted the urge to pass out. There was something he had to say ...

 _Twenty seconds ..._

Percy looked up at his father. He thought of the gods, of the pain it must cause them to see their children die over and over again. He thought of the guilt on his fathers' face and the anger Poseidon would face once Sally knew that her son was dead and Poseidon didn't find a way to save him.

"My fate ..." Percy put all the conviction he had left in him into his words. "Was _not your fault."_

"Wasn't it?" Poseidon asked bitterly.

"No." Percy took a deep breath before speaking. "You may be responsible for my birth, but everything from there on out was either the work of the fates or _my choice._ Mine. Not yours. If I truly wanted to get away from all the fighting and the death, then I would've stayed on Calypso's island when I had the chance. But I didn't. My choice." Percy stopped talking, pain overriding his need to tell his father not to blame himself.

"If you'd known what was coming when you were given the choice to stay there -"

"Then maybe I would've chosen differently? Perhaps. But even back then, I knew that it might not end with the great prophecy, and I chose to leave anyway."

Poseidon nodded. "I suppose so."

 _Five seconds ..._

"Five seconds." Percy said.

"I know." Poseidon replied.

 _Zero._

Behind Percy, the Doors of Death pulsed with power, once, before vanishing. Percy stumbled and fell straight onto his back, his nerves screaming at the relief. Poseidon, Amphitrite and Triton moved around him, so he could still see them.

"Annabeth." Percy mumbled. "Did she make it out?"

Poseidon's eyes went blank for a moment as he checked. "Yes, she did."

"Good." Percy said, and finally allowed his body to relax. "Can you sing?"

"I can." Amphitrite said. "I'll sing for you."

 _The king and his men, stole the queen from her bed,_

Vibrations shook the ground and Tartarus came near. He knelt next to Percy.

 _And bound her in her bones._

Tartarus raised one massive fist.

 _The seas be ours, and by the powers, where we will, we'll roam._

He started to bring it down on Percy, but Percy was still holding Riptide. He swung his faithful sword, cutting a long gash in Tartarus's arm. Percy smiled slightly as Tartarus bellowed in rage and ripped the sword from his hold, breaking a couple fingers in the process.

 _Yo ho, all hands, hoist the colours high,_

Tartarus raised his fist again, preparing to end Percy's life.

 _Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die._

Tartarus brought down his fist. It went straight through Percy, just underneath his ribcage, and snapping his spine. Percy felt the impact, felt the blood and life start to leak out of him, but he kept his eyes on the beautiful carvings on the ceiling of his father's throne room. And as the light left Percy's eyes, all he was aware of was Amphitrite's song.

 _Yo ho, haul together, hoist the colours high, Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die._

 **Okay, so this was kind of depressing for the first chapter, but I needed Percy to die so that he could help his friends from beyond the grave, well, kinda anyway. Reviews welcome, ideas taken into consideration if you have something you would like Percy to do or a particular direction for the story. I will update as and when I have ideas, but I will try to update at least once a month.**

 **The song, by the way, is from Pirates of the Caribbean. I kind of nicked the singing idea from Rue's death in The Hunger Games. Oops. But I chose that song in particular because it mentioned the seas being his and also never dying, which kind of ties into Percy's situation quite well, I thought.**

 **Till next time, Shib.**


	2. Mourning

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

In Atlantis, a soundless howl of fury and grief shook the palace as Poseidon watched his only half-blood child die. Triton and Delphin quietly slipped away, knowing that only Amphitrite could stand Poseidon's pain, and in Triton's case, to mourn the hero in his own way.

Poseidon collapsed into the arms of his wife, sobbing. Amphitrite held him to her chest like she would a small child and rocked him gently as he cried. All over the world, storms raged, venting the fury and pain of their master.

"He-e d-didn't deserve that." Poseidon hiccupped, face wet with tears.

"I know, my love, I know." Amphitrite crooned. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Sorry you had to see that, sorry he had to die."

"My-y fault." The sea god choked out. "IT'S MY FAULT!"

"No, my Lord." Amphitrite interrupted. "You heard the bo- Percy. It wasn't up to you. You did not decide his fate. Do not blame yourself for what you cannot change."

Poseidon broke down in a fresh round of tears.

***************

Some hours later, when Percy's father had settled into a fitful sleep, Amphitrite called her son to her.

"Inform Olympus of Annabeth's escape from Tartarus and Percy's death." She ordered.

"Yes, Mother." He hesitated. "And what of the titan and the giant?"

"Let your father tell them of that." Amphitrite decided. "He did promise to stand up for them, after all."

Triton nodded and turned to leave, but before he could Amphitrite spoke again.

"Triton ... tell Camp Half-Blood of their hero's death, would you? They deserve to know."

Triton nodded. "What of Jackson's mother?"

"Poseidon will tell her, as soon as he can think clearly enough though the grief to remember her."

Triton nodded and exited the throne room quietly.

***************

Camp Half-Blood was quiet.

It was the middle of the day. It should have been full of life and noise, but the only sound was that of tears falling.

Chiron, Dionysus and all the campers had gathered to burn a sea-green shroud. Even a lot of satyrs and nature spirits had chosen to attend, though many of them could not leave their place for long.

The faces of Percy's friends, closest to the shroud, were pale and wet. Many looked like they were in shock, as if they didn't quite believe that their hero was gone.

Chiron's face, however, was undoubtedly the most haggard of all, the weight of Percy's death adding to the grief of centuries, of training heroes only for them to die time and time again.

***************

The Argo II was still and silent.

Bob and Damasen were marvelling at the beauty of the sky, and the food, and everything else that they were deprived of in Tartarus, but their joy and relief was tempered with a deep sadness for the sacrifice that bought their freedom.

Annabeth stared into the distance, not planning, just blank, like she couldn't accept what had happened, and if she ignored it, it would go away.

Hazel was leaning on Frank, and both of them were crying.

Leo wasn't moving either, his ADHD bowing to his grief. He just stared at the gadget in his hands that he had been messing with like it was a puzzle he couldn't solve.

Jason looked afraid, wondering how he was supposed to go on leading the others.

Piper felt Annabeth's broken heart, and started shivering, unable to think of a way to help her friend.

Silence ruled.

***************

Poseidon was a mess, but he knew what he had to do, and he knew it had to be him. Sally wouldn't accept it from anyone else.

He couldn't be bothered with niceties, and anyway, Sally and Paul knew enough not to get incinerated, so he teleported straight into her apartment.

It was empty.

Poseidon didn't particularly want to go looking for them, so he settled down to wait on the sofa.

The tears started up again while he sat there.

When Sally and Paul came home, he could tell that she already guessed that something was wrong. Her face was pale and drawn. He suspected that she had noticed all the storms he must have been causing and guessed that it was to do with Percy.

As soon as she saw his face, she knew.

She crumpled into Paul's arms, crying.

***************

Olympus, too, was mourning.

It was silent and dark. The immortals that roamed the streets were subdued, aware that the hero who had saved them was dead.

The throne room was colder than normal, and the gods inside were each consumed with their own thoughts.

Poseidon was wishing that he could have saved his son, for what was the point of being a god if you couldn't do what you wanted?

Hades was remembering all the heroes in his realm, and thinking that Percy undoubtedly had the biggest heart of them all.

Dionysus was dwelling on the time when Percy did as he asked and protected his son during the Battle of Manhattan, and wishing that one of his sons could have repaid the favour.

Aphrodite was thinking of the heartbreak that Annabeth would feel, and tried to decide if she should do something about it, for Percy's sake.

Apollo was thinking of his little cousin and wishing that he had escaped. Tartarus would still haunt him, but Apollo could be his therapist, help him heal. It was, after all, what he did. Heal people. But he couldn't heal the dead.

Hera was quiet, and thinking of the future that Percy would have had, the marriage he would have had. No matter what she said about the boy, she knew that Percy would never have cheated on Annabeth the way that Zeus had cheated on her.

Hermes was wondering what would have happened if he hadn't taken his anger at Luke's death out on Percy. He may have given the hero his blessing, and if Percy had that, would Percy have been able to cut Arachne's thread before it dragged them down to Tartarus?

Athena was reflecting on her attitude to the boy. He may have been a son of Poseidon, but he made Annabeth happy, and right now Athena could feel her daughter's pain from up here. She ruefully admitted that she would gladly have the sea spawn alive and with her daughter, if it would cease her daughter's pain.

Artemis reluctantly admitted to herself that Percy was like no other man she had met, to fall into Tartarus for the girl instead of abandoning her, as she had believed he might. She felt shame, now, for her thoughts. Percy had proved time and time again that he was not like other men, and yet she expected the same of him as she did all others. She should have learned better.

Ares was thinking of the fighter Percy had been, and wished that he'd sparred with the punk more often. Not trying to kill him or anything, just practice. He was a great hero, after all.

Hestia's hearth was small and dim, hope almost gone. But one person's life and optimism kept it going, and this puzzled Hestia, for she could not see who's hope it was. For a moment though, it felt like Percy's hope, but recognition passed, and she put it down to wishful thinking. Percy was dead. She could not feel his hope.

Hephaestus was tinkering with something, and trying to think of something to do. He wasn't good with emotions, but he could admit to himself that he felt guilty for how they had treated their saviour. He wanted to do something to fix it, but he knew this was something that couldn't be fixed. Dead was dead.

Demeter understood better than most the cycle of life and death. Plants lived, grew and died, just like people. She knew Percy was gone, but she wondered, and she had hope, for though Percy was one of a kind and could never be replaced, some plants came back year after year, and she prayed that he would too.

Zeus thought about the war, and felt afraid. For he knew in the back of his mind, that Percy had power in his heart and mind and strength of will that the gods could not even begin to understand, let alone match. He feared for Olympus without their hero.

 **So, another chapter.**

 **Till next time, Shib.**


	3. Inbetween Worlds

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

First, I became aware of the dark. I was floating, drifting. Lost. I tried to remember how I got here, but couldn't. I focused, and memories came to me. Strawberry fields. Seas. Satyrs. Grey eyes, blonde hair. Annabeth. She's Annabeth, and I'm Percy. Percy Jackson.

The name - my name - triggered the rest of my memories, and they flooded through me, all at once. Suddenly I was falling from the St Louis Arch, holding up the world, blowing up Mount St Helens, on Calypso's island, meeting Dad for the first time, talking to mom, seeing the Roman camp and travelling on the Argo II all at once.

And walking through Tartarus. The memory made me shudder as Annabeth's escape and my death came back to me in vivid detail, as though it was still happening, as though it would never stop happening. As the pain and trauma of the memory became too much, though, it disappeared. I felt a pulling sensation and suddenly, I wasn't in the dark anymore, but on a cold stone floor.

I felt my entire being reform on that floor, the agony of all my cells slotting back into their correct places making me writhe, my body automatically trying to scream but having no breath to do so. I'd never been in this amount of pain, never. I'd been hurt before, but only in one area, and I'd always healed quickly enough.

After an indeterminable amount of time, the torture stopped and I lay still for a moment, allowing my heartbeat to calm and my breathing to slow, relishing the cold air on my fevered skin.

Wait, heartbeat? I bolted upright, and flinched slightly as I remembered my last moments in Tartarus. I definitely didn't dream that. I studied myself a moment. I was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. My feet were bare, and I was reminded of my predicament when the chilly floor sent a shiver up my legs.

I looked around me wildly, fairly sure that something had gone wrong with my death; one, because come on, this was me we were talking about and if my life hadn't been easy then my death probably wouldn't either, and two, from what I remembered of the underworld, dead people could barely remember their lives, whereas I could remember parts of my life with far more detail than I was comfortable with. Also, I was pretty sure dead people didn't have heartbeats. But maybe I'm just being stereotypical?

"Percy Jackson." My name rung out in the small room, and I leaped to my feet to see three old ladies. They weren't sitting at a fruit stand this time, but they were still very recognisable. "Fates." I greeted as respectfully as I could manage. I really, really, really did not want to get on the bad side of these old ladies.

"Do you know why you are here?" They asked in unison in that creepy-lady way of theirs.

"Um ... no?" I tried.

"Do you know what your fate was to be?" Was to be? This wasn't good. If someone had changed fate without their permission then they would be very, very pissed off. I really don't want to insult them right now, I doubt they'd take it well.

I shook my head in answer to their question.

"Akhlys wasn't supposed to be in possession of the poison which no titan, giant or god could heal, and she most definitely wasn't supposed to use it on you. Bob and Damasen were meant to sacrifice themselves so that you and Annabeth could escape. You were supposed to live."

I snorted. "I guess that didn't quite go as planned."

"Quite." The lead fate deadpanned. "Which is quite problematic for us, given as you are still one of the seven."

"What?" I asked, disbelief colouring my tone. "How can I still be a part of it, when I'm dead? I thought someone else would just take my place or something?"

"Stupid boy, you cannot escape your fate so easily." The fate on the right snapped.

The fate on the left silenced the one on the right with a sharp look, and the middle fate spoke. "Normally, you would be replaced. Had you been any other of the Seven, that is exactly what we would have done."

"So ... why didn't you do that?" I had a really, really bad feeling about this.

"Because you alone in the Seven are irreplaceable. You actions alone decide the war. Without you, the center cannot hold."

I sighed. "What must I do?"

"Do you remember the last two lines of your first great prophecy?" The fate on the right started smirking, and given the fact that she's the one who seems to hate me, I wasn't going to like this conversation at all.

"A single choice shall end his days, Olympus to preserve or raze." I recited.

Amusement glinted in the fates eyes. "Yes, you would remember, wouldn't you? The choice mentioned in the prophecy was, in fact, two choices."

"Then why didn't the prophecy say so?" I questioned. Did I screw up the second choice and that's why I'm here?

"Since when have prophecies been clear?" I nodded once, in acknowledgement of that fact. "Also, it sounds better that way." The middle fate admitted. I snorted in amusement.

"So what was the second choice?" I asked.

"Your reward." I thought about that for a second. Yeah, I could see how them not promising to claim all their children would change things. "By choosing against immortality, you delayed the fall of the gods by several thousand years. The only reason for their fall then was their treatment of the peaceful titans."

I gritted my teeth at the reminder. Even after swearing on the river Styx, they still didn't free Calypso and the others.

"So why didn't they free Calypso and the others?" I asked.

"They swore to release them. They never swore when."

"Surely you could have made them?"

"Yes, but it was not our place. Besides, we saw no reason to force them to uphold an oath that you would have forced them to uphold after the giant war."

"Except I died."

"Yes. And that changed something else about the future had you survived."

"What?"

"If you had survived, at the end of the giant war you would have been given immortality alongside Annabeth and the rest of the Seven. Your continued existance would have reminded the gods of the price of arrogance and war, encouraging them to be kinder in general and more merciful when dishing out punishments."

"Okay. What did you mean when you said that I still am a part of the Seven? How am I supposed to help now that I'm dead?"

"We are not allowed to bring you back to life. Like the gods, we are governed by a set of rules, and that is one of them. However, there is something else we can do, something we control."

"And that is?" I got the feeling that we were finally coming to the reason that I am here.

The fates worked together, pulling up a sea-green string. I felt a shiver of apprehension as I looked at it. It was my string. I knew it in my bones.

"This," the fate on the right said sourly. "is where Tartarus put his fist through your spine." I shivered as her words brought back the memory in vivid detail. Judging by the smirk on her face - which really didn't go with all the wrinkles and grey hair - she said that on purpose.

I looked at where she was pointing and saw that my string was twisted there, twisted, frayed ... but not broken. I dragged my eyes up from the string that was hanging on by a thread to the fate on the right. "You didn't cut my string." It wasn't a question. She sneered at me.

"Forgive Atropos." The middle fate spoke. "She doesn't like you much. She came close to cutting your thread many times, but each time you escaped. And now she could cut your thread, only you weren't supposed to die, and to cut your thread would be to ruin all that we work for. Clotho, on the other hand, is quite fond of you, despite the fact that she did not spin you thread, nor I measure it."

"Huh?" I gaped at them. "How can that be?"

She - presumably Lachesis - frowned. "I do not know. Your string has existed since before we were born. Your fate was never in our control. The only thing we were to decide was your death sometime after the two wars, but the fact that you were also supposed to become immortal after the second war meant that we had no hand in your fate." The frown turned into a scowl. "Except Akhlys decided to mess with what she did not understand, and now we are stuck messing with a very, very old fate that was likely very, very old for a very, very good reason."

"Why was my fate created all that time ago?"

"I don't know. But I would guess that it was made so you could win the war. Though whoever created your fate must have know what would happen, which is ... difficult, because only a very powerful being could have known that."

"You don't know who created my thread?" I asked in disbelief.

"Unfortunately not. We did do some research but we never got any decent answers. However, there is something else you should be aware of. Over time, people's life threads touch, nothing to do with geography, and they pick up knowledge from each other. That is the cause for all those mortals harping on about reincarnation. They know things from other people, either about other people or places or skills."

"What does this have to do with me?"

"This happens to almost everyone at least once in their life. However, you don't have to be alive for this to happen, you just have to have a life thread. And your life thread has been around for a long, long time."

"So why aren't I super smart or something?"

"This gaining knowledge thing happens to almost everyone, yet very few actually notice. Most people have that knowledge, but dormant. It is likely that that is why you haven't noticed this."

"Okay, but if it's dormant then why are you telling me?"

"Because there is always a trigger. If you can find your trigger, then the knowledge that you have gained over thousands of years would be an extraordinary weapon. Now, we don't have a lot of time left. You need to go back to the mortal world and help your friends, save your camp, and win the war."

"How am I supposed to do that if I'm dead?"

"You'll figure it out. It is possible to interact with the living world, but it is different for everyone. For you, I suspect that emotion would be your friend."

"Okay, but if I'm not alive because you aren't allowed to bring me back, and I'm not dead because my string is intact, then what am I?"

"Inbetween worlds." The three Fates answered ominously and made a gesture, and suddenly, I was gone.

 **So, another chapter done. I hope you like the way I brought Percy back. This chapter explains a lot of what I am planning. I hope you liked it.**

 **Till next time, Shib :)**


	4. Invisible

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

I don't know where I am.

Or rather, I know where I am, but the world has changed - one moment camp is empty and grey but for the people who are bright splotches of vivid colour breaking up the monotony and the next everything is as normal, but muffled, distorted, as though I am underwater.

The two ways of seeing the world are overlapping, giving me an odd sort of double vision. I knew instinctively that what I was seeing was the world from two different viewpoints - as if I were alive and as if I were dead.

It was hard to focus through the confusion, but I knew I had to learn to focus despite the headache it was undoubtedly going to give me. I was still a part of the seven. Annabeth was still in danger. I have a role to play in the war to come, and I refuse to let Gaea win just because I couldn't deal with whatever shitty hand fate had dealt me this time.

I cautiously uncurled from the foetal position that I had unconsciously assumed when the bombardment of colours was too much for my eyes, adjusted to Tartarus as they were.

I'm in the Amphitheatre, and going by the nauseating swirl of colour that greeted me, so was just about everybody in camp. All the seats were filled. In the center, a shroud was being burned.

My shroud.

I guess it shouldn't have come as so much of a surprise. The guilt that I had seen in my father's eyes had probably resulted in sea storms all across the world, which was probably enough of a hint. Even without that, there was still the Argo II, as Annabeth, Bob and Damasen had probably told the others of my death. They in turn probably Iris-Messaged camp, if Dionysus hadn't told Chiron before that. So it really was logical to imagine that all my friends - and family, crap, Mom and Paul - were mourning me.

It still came as a shock.

The last time I'd walked into my shroud burning, I'd been fine. Oh, I'd blown up a volcano and accidentally set the bane of Olympus free, but I was still alive.

Now I wasn't.

It really hit home. Not that I was dead, I was really very aware of that thanks to my suddenly-really-vivid memories, but that even if I managed to function as a member of the Seven, I could never go back to my mortal life. The Fates couldn't bring back the dead, and sooner or later they'd cut my string.

My life was over.

I would never hold Annabeth in my arms again. Never kiss her. Never hug my Mom or exchange manly handshakes with Paul.

That part of my life was gone, like it or not.

And I didn't like it. At all. It wasn't fair. I wasn't supposed to die, and now I'd never get my life back. Anger began to rise up in me. I pushed it back, and looked at the campers to distract me.

None of them seemed to notice me, which I guess is a side effect of technically being dead. I snapped my fingers in front of their faces and jumped around a bit as well though, just to make sure. I stopped when I accidentally kicked someone's chair - and my foot went straight through. I decided to just look around.

From looking at the world as though I were still alive, everything the same but muffled - I think I'll call it the lifepoint, short for living viewpoint - I could hear Chiron talking about my life and quests, who I was and all that stuff. I guess it was him because Annabeth wasn't here this time.

I could see that nearly everyone was crying, even the newer campers. Odd, they hardly even knew me. Oh well, I guess that's what people do for their saviour - as big-headed as saying that made me sound.

From looking at the world as though I was dead - in what I now dubbed the deathpoint - the world was bleak and grey, except the people. But they weren't the normal colours. They were different, and I knew it meant something. So I tried to figure it out.

They seemed to be random, the colours, and I looked at them for ten minutes before giving up to the sharp pounding of a headache and let myself slump against the wall. With my eyes closed and no longer focusing on the colours, I began to pay attention to what Chiron was saying once again.

"Percy Jackson was perhaps the greatest hero to ever attend this camp. Not just because of his various - and numerous - accomplishments, but because of his loyalty, bravery and chivalry. Some of you won't remember, but camp used to only have twelve cabins, one for each of the Olympians. We owe the fact that all the minor gods as well as Lord Hades and Lady Hestia are recognised with cabins and thrones to him. Thank you, Percy Jackson."

I grinned as I remembered that day. The look on Zeus' face had been priceless as I turned down immortality. The grin faded a bit as I wondered if that had been a mistake. If I'd accepted immortality then I'd still be alive.

Then I thought about the happiness on the kids faces as they were claimed, and how several minor gods had approached me after the Titan War before Zeus had shut down Olympus offering thanks and aid if I should ever need it. Nah. I did the right thing.

I sighed and pushed myself up from the wall. Looking around me, I paid attention to the colours. There had to be a way to figure this out. I just had to be logical.

I looked at Chiron's colours, and ignored the others. There were quite a few mixed in there. The most prominent ones - the overtones, I'm going to call them - were a dull lifeless grey. That was one thing that most of the people here seemed to have. I wondered what it meant, but dismissed the thought. I'd figure it out.

Chiron's less obvious colours, the undertones, were a deep impenetrable black, which sort of reminded me of a grave. The whole thing was interspersed with gold. I looked away as I felt the sorrow coming off of it. Then my eyes widened.

The undertones seemed to be a description of who Chiron is. The black means mystery, because although everyone knew that Chiron was a trainer of heroes, what else do we know about him really? Black was also referring to the amount of death Chiron must have seen, training heroes who only die time and time again. Gold means illumination, not literally but figuratively pointing to his teaching, as one can consider the passing on of knowledge as lighting the minds of those learning. Gold also means wisdom, which would make sense as he's bound to be wise after almost three thousand years of life.

My mouth dropped open and I sank to the ground. I can see who people are. Bloody hell. That could be useful, although I still haven't figured out what the overtones mean. Still, it'll come to me eventually. I snapped back to reality when I saw the people leaving. I guess my funeral is over.

I stood up and followed Chiron back to the big house in a daze. I guess I was in shock. I can't seem to process anything anymore, it was just too much. I walked behind him numbly. How am I supposed to help beat Gaea when I can't even affect the real world? I can't even talk to anyone. I could see this becoming old fast. Especially if I had to watch camp being attacked without being able to help.

For that matter, how am I supposed to find the Argo II? If I'm still a member of the Seven then that's probably where I'm supposed to be. It's not like I can just walk to Greece.

Chiron entered and closed the door before I could slip in behind him. Unable to stop myself in time, I moved towards the door fully expecting a painful collision only to fall straight through. I shuddered violently. This dead thing was going to take some getting used to.

The centaur walked through the house slowly, finally stopping in the kitchen. He shrunk back into his wheelchair, pulled a beer can - a beer can!? - out of the fridge. He opened it up and I watched in disbelief as he started sipping it. As he was drinking, he began to cry. Eventually the can was empty and the trainer of heroes rested his head on his arms, weeping silently. I felt awful, like I was spying on something private. Which I was, unintentionally or not.

A flash announced the presence of a god, and Mr D appeared. He took a seat next to the grief-ridden teacher and gently patted his shoulder. "It's okay. The brat - sorry, Percy - is (as cliché as it sounds) in a better place by now."

My eyebrows rose up into my hairline. I knew Mr D did care, if only a little because of the concern he showed for Pollux's life in the Battle of Manhattan, but somehow I never pictured him and Chiron being friends despite the fact that Mr D was sentenced to camp for a century. Which means that they would have to at least tolerate one another on some level, otherwise I seriously doubt Camp would still be standing. Still, I was glad that he was being nice to Chiron. He needed it.

"Why do they always die?" Chiron asked, his voice muffled. "So many died. I know you can't make them all immortal but so many don't even make it to adulthood. It wouldn't be so bad, if they'd lived all of their life, but so many don't get that chance. It isn't fair!" He started sobbing, loud and heartbroken. Dionysus pulled him up and into a hug, letting Chiron bury his face into his chest like a small child seeking comfort.

I backed out of the room. This was a private moment, nothing to do with me. Chiron deserved the peace to fall apart without being spied on.  
I started to make my way out of the big house, before pausing in thought. I needed information in order to have an idea on what I am supposed to do. I wonder if the Oracle can still hear me?

Time to visit Rachel Elizabeth Dare.

 **So, my dear readers, that is another chapter done. Hope you like it, and wish me luck thinking up a rhyming prophecy. Oops! Spoilers.**

 **So goodbye for now, Shib. :)**


	5. Prophecy

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

I strode down the path towards the Oracle's cave, hoping Rachel would be there. What with all the Greek/Roman stuff happening, I was guessing - or hoping, more like - that she was here in case of an emergency, and that she would be able to see me. I mean, Oracles can see the future, right? So maybe she can see the future where I've figured out how to make myself visible and explained that I went to see her, so she'll know I'm there and talk to me?

Okay, so it sounds a little far-fetched, but it was all that I had. The only other thing I could think of to do was visit Lord Hades and see if he felt like helping me, but somehow I didn't think that I wanted to do that. I may have gotten him a throne on Olympus, but I doubt that makes him like me. He could just refuse to tell anyone he'd seen me, and there would be absolutely nothing I could do about it. Besides, I had no clue how to get to the Underworld's mortal entrance in a hurry. Of course, being dead and all, I could probably go like every other dead person on the planet but I had no idea how to do that. I think some of the myths mentioned Thanatos.

No thanks.

So. Oracle.

I stopped walking at the entrance to her cave and looked inside with trepidation. Rachel was loads less creepy than the old Oracle, but she still had her moments. Fed up with waiting, and slightly ashamed of myself for feeling creeped out by my friend, I walked inside.

Rachel was painting. She also wasn't alone.

Apollo was sat on one of the benches in the surprisingly cosy cave.

"Rachel." He said gently.

"I can't stop." She said, her voice muffled.

"Rachel, painting pictures isn't going to help. It's going to make you feel guilty for not seeing it."

"It wasn't supposed to happen!" Rachel exclaimed. "I see snippets of the future, it's just the prophecies that I'm not allowed to remember because no mortal is allowed to know the outcome before it happens. I saw them both escaping. He wasn't supposed to die."

Apollo sighed. "I know, Rachel. But meant to be or not, nothing is going to bring him back."

Rachel threw the brush she was using against the wall in a fit of temper and stalked over to Apollo. I had never seen her this wound up, not even in the days leading up to the final battle when she was first having dreams about the choice I needed to make for the great prophecy.

"It's not all. I could see pieces of the future and they all fit together. Like a jigsaw puzzle. But now, they're all different. Everything has changed. The Fates are scrambling to make everything fit with Percy's loss and they can't do it. Without him, we will lose."

"We don't know that, Rachel." Apollo said diplomatically.

"Oh yes we do." Rachel hissed. "Whatever happens in the final battle against Gaea has everything to do with Percy. Something to do with his life thread."

Apollo frowned, an unusual expression on his normally cheerful features. "What? What about his life thread?"

Oh. Rachel must be talking about how my thread is apparently really old. So that is the main weapon in the final battle? Cool. If I can figure out how to trigger it.

"I don't know!" Rachel yelled in frustration. "I'm not allowed to see."

Apollo's expression softened. "Rachel, it'll be alright. Zeus instructed Hades to put Percy in Elysium, and Hades retorted by saying he wouldn't be going to Elysium, he'd be headed to the Isle of the Blessed because this was his third good life, and even if Zeus hadn't ordered him to, Percy would be headed for the good section of the underworld because unlike any of Zeus's children, Percy had tried to help his son. Zeus didn't even start on at Hades for that. All of Olympus have been really subdued."

"Elysium - or the Isle of the Blessed, for that matter - is not going to do him as much good as Annabeth when it comes to recovering from _that_." She flung a hand out behind her and pointed towards the piece she had been working on.

For the first time, I looked at what Rachel had been painting. And automatically flinched at the sight that was burned into my brain.

It was Tartarus. There was the horrible, lifeless deadly ground, and look! Those are the Doors of Death. You can see the horde of angry monsters in the background and in the front, the best place were the two main characters. One was Tartarus, in all his monstrous glory.(Bones breaking, blood leaking, agony pulsing through me~) I shook myself out of the memory and shifted my attention to the other figure.

The other was me. I looked awful. I was pale and gave off the appearance being about to fall down of exhaustion. (Which I was. Tired, tunnel vision. Slash and duck and hit and block, I just want to sleep~) Blood ran down my body, too much of it, accumulating from the many, many small cuts and quite a few deep cuts too. My hair was streaked with filth and I was painfully thin, sinewy muscles all that stopped me from looking like skin and bone. Or looking more like skin and bone.

It was my eyes that really stood out though. They almost glowed with power, and not a sickly green as they had at Akhlys' cave either, but a shifting colour perfectly balanced between green and blue. Sea colour. I have no idea how I managed it but they had a power about them, a wisdom. It said that no matter how badly I was hurt, I would keep fighting till I was dead. It almost ... awed me. Was this really what I looked like?

"Wow, Rachel. You've outdone yourself." I murmured, then jerked and looked at Rachel. I had almost forgotten what I came here to do, but it didn't matter. Neither Rachel nor Apollo seemed to hear me. Rachel had started talking again.

"I still can't get it quite right. Tartarus isn't accurate, he actually looks better in the painting. The other thing is Percy's eyes."

"What about them? They look awesome to me. Almost ... immortal, but that isn't possible. He's had three lives though, sometimes the river Lethe doesn't work as well after a couple times. It still wipes their memories, but in times of stress they can remember things that they couldn't possibly know."

"That's just it!" Rachel ran a hand through her hair. "Just like Tartarus, they aren't vivid enough. They were even more eerie in my dream."

"Okay, Rachel. I don't doubt you. But what does it mean?" Apollo asked, his features oddly intent. Rachel sighed. "I don't know."

Neither of them spoke. I cleared my throat. They didn't react. "Uh, Rachel? Lord Apollo?"

They didn't hear me. I sighed and started to walk out. I heard Rachel cough behind me and Apollo's exclamation of surprise. I spun around and saw green smoke pouring out of Rachel's mouth as the power that used Rachel as a vessel looked straight at me. Just as it did when I was twelve, the sight made me want to stammer out an excuse about looking for the bathroom and bolt. Just like last time, I stayed.

"Approach, seeker, and ask." A gravelly voice - I refused to think of it as Rachel's gravelly voice - stated. Apollo was looking at Rachel with bewilderment, and at my general direction with suspicion.

I gulped, and asked the first question that popped into my head. "How do I fulfil my role as a member of the Seven?"

"Travel with the Argo II. The ship will take you where you need to go with the other demigods. In order to complete your destiny, you must be visible. It will be hard at first, but will grow easier with time as you learn to live with your new ... gifts."

Apollo took a step back in shock and I spoke without thinking. "You aren't rhyming!"

The gravelly voice laughed. "No, young demigod. The Fates have lifted some of the smaller laws regarding you in retaliation. Ask me as many questions as you feel you need, I will answer them as best I can. Bear in mind I cannot tell you the conclusion, only give you guidance."

Apollo was staring, gobsmacked.

"Okay. Okay." I muttered to myself and started pacing. "First things first. How do I make myself visible?"

"You must find the part of you that never changes, and let it fill you till that is a certainty in your world, for it is your strength, and the reason you are able to save the gods."

"Huh?"

"Remember that strengths are often disguised as weaknesses, and what others perceive as a fault can often help you. I am sorry I cannot tell you more, hero, but there are still limits on what I can do."

"No, that's fine. You said I could fulfil my destiny as one of the seven on the Argo II. How can I find it, and how can I catch up with it?"

"You are dead, young hero. That gives you some advantages. Gaea herself could not sense you now, and Tartarus would probably only notice you if he was looking for something out of the ordinary. Being both alive and dead means you have the best of both worlds, as well as the worst. Distance means little to those who are dead. If you focus on an item or a place of a person, you will travel there. If you only want to move in a certain direction, just imagine it."

"Thanks." I paused and thought a moment. "What do the colours mean?"

"Two things, young hero, in each person. Who they are, and their current mood."

"Oohhh." I felt like hitting myself. No wonder all the overtones in the Amphitheatre were dull grey. The mood in a funeral wasn't exactly going to be cheerful.

"Can I ask you questions anytime?"

"Yes, young hero, but remember my earlier restrictions. I can only guide you, not give you the answers."

"Okay. By the way, what were the three lives Hades said I had?"

The Oracle stared at me gravely. "I cannot tell you specifics, young hero, but you are a demigod in all three lives. You must remember the rest on your own."

"Okay." I paced. I was sure there was more I needed to know. Inspiration hit. "If you were me, what question would you ask?"

The Oracle laughed again. "If I were you, I would ask me how I could use my new situation to my advantage."

"Okay. What you said."

The Oracle smiled again. "Now that you are invisible, you would make an excellent spy. You could know when and where Gaea will attack as soon as she decides. You could also be a scout for the Argo II, looking ahead where monsters are likely to hide."

"Thanks, er... Do you have a name? Rachel's the Oracle, your vessel, but that doesn't really describe you."

The Oracle just stared at me. I began to wonder if I'd said something wrong.

"I don't have one." She finally answered. "No-one's ever asked before."

"Well, what name would you like?" I asked.

The Oracle sat in thought. "Nimue, the lady of the lake in the legends of Camelot. There when needed, the keeper of a great weapon. I would like to be called Nimue."

I smiled. "Well then, Nimue. I'll see you around."

"Yes, young hero, I daresay you will." She nodded, looking thoughtful. Then without warning, the green smoke retreated back into Rachel, and she collapsed.

 **'Nother chapter, everyone. The lady of the lake, by the way, is from the TV series Merlin. I think her name wasn't Nimue in that because Nimue was evil and tried to kill Arthur in the TV series. Anyway, the lady of the lake character in Merlin, but with Nimue's name.**

 **Enjoy, Shib.**


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